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007 Challenge

3.6. For a Fellow Woodsman

Pausing beside the neighbors yard late night
I spied his full woodbin, chopped carefully,
placed with care to go into the furnace room,
out to in, puzzling innit?

Running home and dragging Ku back,
pointing, "Look at that." She say,
"I know the man that placed that stack."
even though the address is in the dark.

Ku left leaving me in the dark,
faded stars above, the moon yet to rise,
wanting to salute the chap,
not wanting to wake him up,
walked away up the hill,
gave my thoughts a rest
 
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6

I think often now of my childhood home,
but not as it is now but as it was back then.
Distance clouds the memories for in reality
I wasn't happy there, but that was the people
not accepting the loneliness of being different.
I loved the eerie marshes leading to the sea,
where I walked alone, watching the seasons pass.
Beyond the dunes ships would moan to the fog
muffled ghosts slipping invisibly by the coast
where the waves swept shingle over the sand and
beachcombers searched for the sea's discards.
Seals were the only ones to lift their heads and watch
as I passed gathering treasure from the sea,
amber, shells and even once crates and crates
of oranges, still edible, gathered and claimed
by all the villagers, from some distant land to ours.
 
7 The end

Ends come in many different ways,
some unexpected, immensely sad.
While others bring a sigh of relief
and others make you mad!
Depending on your point of view,
perhaps someone did you wrong
and at the time you kick and spit
his name out, but as you go along
you realise he did you such a favour
for ending what would have been
a huge mistake, not right for you
so before you vent your spleen
think of life without this arsehole,
your life's once again your own,
you gain a TV remote control
with no one else to sigh and moan
at your weird programme choices,
so what? They make you smile.
So go forward to your future
and live your own lifestyle!
 
3.7. Six Hours Late

Our bed was warm as a buttered biscuit last night and just as welcome.
 
001

Trains keep coming.
Therefore: benches.
True, some few jump
in front, but each one
angry enough to halt
rush hour traffic.
Mostly it is negotiated
knees and air.
Give an inch. Then
breathe your full
expanse of exhales.
 
UnderYourSpell said:
Ends come in many different ways,
some unexpected, immensely sad.
While others bring a sigh of relief
and others make you mad!
Depending on your point of view,
perhaps someone did you wrong
and at the time you kick and spit
his name out, but as you go along
you realise he did you such a favour
for ending what would have been
a huge mistake, not right for you
so before you vent your spleen
think of life without this arsehole,
your life's once again your own,
you gain a TV remote control
with no one else to sigh and moan
at your weird programme choices,
so what? They make you smile.
So go forward to your future
and live your own lifestyle![/QUOTE

i like this.
Click to expand...
 
UnderYourSpell said:
Ends come in many different ways,
some unexpected, immensely sad.
While others bring a sigh of relief
and others make you mad!
Depending on your point of view,
perhaps someone did you wrong
and at the time you kick and spit
his name out, but as you go along
you realise he did you such a favour
for ending what would have been
a huge mistake, not right for you
so before you vent your spleen
think of life without this arsehole,
your life's once again your own,
you gain a TV remote control
with no one else to sigh and moan
at your weird programme choices,
so what? They make you smile.
So go forward to your future
and live your own lifestyle!
Click to expand...

Made me smile :D
 
Janis Joplin

Janis Joplin (1943-1970)

By JCStreet © 2018, all rights reserved

I mourn the death of Janis
never liked in school, never
liked by anyone who didn’t count, nor
anyone without imagination

discarded to be alone and
that was fine sometimes, solitude
being a great
spawner of art
up to a point, but

what of the skin hunger
what of the need to feel
goosebumpy skin for a moment, what
of featherbird kisses

holding hands, tipsy in a plummet, which is
where she left us
hanging

-30-

(final edit 181120)
 
Last edited:
Les and his ilk

Les

By JCStreet © 2018, all rights reserved

I sent him emails but he
up and died

I sent him emails with
clips of Keith Jarrett and Jan Garbarek
Tony Rice and Steve Winwood and that
buxom girl with the deadpan face
who plays double bass with Tony

I sent him emails with
clips of Mary Lou Williams, but
he up and died

That’s what happens when you’re old,

When you get no answer you think
does he not like me any more, or
has he up and died

how would you know, the
people who find him don’t know your name, they
don’t know you exist, they
aren’t gonna tell you

--

For a Valentine, I sent her a
drawing of a flower, it had
red petals and a yellow middle and
green leaves and a kind of wavy line

representing the earth

I sent her a flower but she
up and died

that’s what happens and
no one tells you, they
don’t even know her username

-30-
 
Miami Sunset

MIAMI SUNSET

By JCStreet © 2004, 2018


We waited all summer for
that poppy to die
but it died anyway
bleeding its love into the white sand

World girded a loose
cloak on our bodies, sun
woven into the folds, nuts
squirreled for winter

we agreed the season had expired and I
left for a farther country

-30-
 
Not enough Monkey Business

TOO MUCH 180516

By JCStreet (c) 2018, all rights reserved

There’s too much
daylight im sommer and
too much dark
im winter, too much
too much to bear

are they in the woods

sure they are, we
know they’re there yet
some go down to picnic with them

it’s too much
too too too much like a
walking, talking jazz line by Eddie Harris
yeah but

there ain’t
too much monkey business, there’s
not enough monkey business you can
monkey with my business
any time hun

any time is time enough to
monkey with my business but
not too much

enough is as good as a feast, Granny said
everything in moderation not too much, stream
of consciousness a river
runs through it

-30-
 
Prison Girl

Prison Girl

By JCStreet © 2018

I didn’t know there
was a kilo of grass in the trunk, I
told the cops that
but it didn’t help, I had
two years less a day to look forward to
up to Marionville, medium security

just

19 and condemned
to a criminal record, turned out
the car was stolen too
but Turner hadn’t told me that, I had
trusted him implicitly the way young girls do
naïve as I was . . . having had
no Dad to teach me the facts of life
I don’t mean procreation
I learned that on my own


-30-
 
The restless moon
sirens through three
windows out of five
and down the hall of this
railroad apartment.
Slipper feet pad to tap
steam of all its secrets
spilled steep and whispered
into tea.
 
cherries_on_snow said:
The restless moon
sirens through three
windows out of five
and down the hall of this
railroad apartment.
Slipper feet pad to tap
steam of all its secrets
spilled steep and whispered
into tea.
Click to expand...

not much of a life without a steaming cup of tea
 
001

The New Testament

On the way to someplace
Easy with receipts I was stopped completely because
A man with a false moustache,
Possibly a woman with a false moustache,
Raised a hand even with my chest,
Warning I should go no further along my obvious
Path toward calculation and alibi because,
As my therapist says, small doings avoid and thus never
Really get me far. I mean sure
I’d keep my job by appeasing the keen
Payroll secretary. Sure, I’d pick up some
Antibiotics which would have been considered miracles
Just three generations ago,
But the false moustache threw me a little, I confess
To a slight falter and then adjusting to the false
Moustache, I looked up and it was Morgan Freeman
And I realized I was John Denver, luckily not long
Distracted by having a penis and this is what happened
After that: all of the words never written were
Instantly converted to a platinum thumbdrive worn
by Morgan Freeman as a necklace. And here’s where I should have
Shouldered the boulder for eternity just because
Maybe I could have snatched it: that flash of all the words unwritten or
Probably erased. I should have, I know. But I didn’t. I Adamed. Averted my eyes
Pointedly from the safe door to my feet where
curled a false moustache with just enough stick left
for even John Denver to dream
of being Morgan Freeman.
 
002

Thor's Day

blink the day open
current as water

waking stone miracles
because it's really
all miracles
 
003

Loving a river is inevitable.
When I was eight years old
I built a raft for the Hudson.

Rivers are complicated
Strivers, the lengths of longing
Stretching toward freedom

As I stretch toward my river
Runner who seems still
Rushing toward the sea.
 
004

So I wrote this love poem to tomorrow but Lit swallowed it. Damnit. You'd think I'd learn by now to write in word and not in here. Fekk Fekk Fekk.
 
004

Lifeguards wanted

YouTube Star was the commonest
desired avocation of 5th grade this year.
Runners up were cross walk guard
and professional door holder.

Probably the kids aren't worse
than the kids of 1920. Still children
around the world fetch water and sweep
floors, contribute hands
to marched banners. Of course

decades of articulated and applied
policies incubating
world wide job insecurity

acclimated little kids to odds
calculated every 6 weeks in percentiles.
Perform! Perform! Perform! Why not
perform on YouTube? After all

nobody tests anymore the crucial matters:
can you cook rice that isn't soupy or sour
and with whom would you share it?
 
005

A paper love is primed for origami--
the precious occupation of careful hands
creasing two dimensions into three
ways to be, to lay to rise and stand

and speak! My paper lover's draped with words
burlesquely shedding everything but pearls--
parsing what remains in even thirds:
the fairy tales we shed as little girls

the battles and the ballads we outstrode,
behind us clouds of dust, ambitious trails
recounting alchemistic trials and toads.
Finally the shore. The boat. The sails.

Some lovers write their summers down in chalk.
I'll carve as I await you on the dock.
 
sweepthefloor said:
The brain eventually stops fighting the chemical--
The chemical interruption of what you were.

The caterpillar asks: Who are you?

It accepts defeat and a part of yourself is lost--
Compliance is the name of the game.

The alternative is something silly and dangerous.

Accepting treatment is a sad story--
I do not have to believe the organic diagnosis.

I just have to take the pills.

This is not an Alice in Wonderland Syndrome--
Where is the amusement park for your pleasure?

There is no magical thinking.
Click to expand...

When I read your first poem I couldn't tell. However, when I read on, the picture began to form - like seeing a girl looking out to sea while her dog swims back with the stick she threw - not that I know her but I bookmark the moment - eavesdropping on an opera singer in a field of sunflowers just taking a private time-out, to hum a Joni Mitchell.

Thanks.

We'll be seeing more of you!

JC
 
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